Original Story : Mental
Umm, here's a story I wrote, if anyone's interested. It's not fanfiction, nor part of any fandom, but an original work from my slashy mind. Enjoy.
Mental
Rating: PG-13
The clicks and clangs, repeatedly making the room vibrate, reverberated off of the tiny, white walls, causing me to huddle even deeper in my newfound sorrow. But could one even consider my state to be that of sorrow? In fact, I was quite happy, pleased even, just not with this turn of events, if events they truly were. I did what was asked of me, swept, cleaned, the works, and yet… here I was, a little teddy bear my only solace, in this room, lined at the bottom with chrome while the walls - as I’ve already mentioned, blank as they are - are an ivory set of white. It’s dull, dreary, and dampens my mood immediately. After all, when one is thrown into such a room - quite roughly, I might add, and without reason - is one to get up and shout for joy? I think not. Very uncivilized, very much indeed. I was taught better than that… at least, I think I was. I cannot remember. No matter, my companions are all very well-mannered. Well, most of them are anyway; Mr. Close could be considered down-right rude sometimes, but… I have no time to chat away aimlessly, so I digress.
My head shook as a scream echoed throughout my enclosure, just as a man, in stark white that matched my walls most perfectly, walked into the room.
“Good morrow!” I told him, unable to wave, for my arms were pinned to my sides.
“And a good day to you too, Mr. Pitch. You ready?”
I studied his face with utmost curiousness. Ready for what? Was I supposed to be readied for something?
“My dear sir,” I began, an itch growing up my back, crawling towards my neck, “I do believe that I am not properly readied. For, as you can see, my attire wanes in comparison to your lovely white clothing. I am but wearing red underneath this contraption, which is hardly a suitable enough color to proceed outside in.”
The man looked at me, then, he smiled, a familiar smile.
“But Mr. Pitch, you’re always wearing red. It’s the dress code.”
I sighed, my itch rising. It seems he did not understand my predicament, which is a shame, really, for I’ve known Mr. Wheezer for oh so long. To think that this man was the one who brought me to this accursed place in the first place, and yet he doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. Tsk tsk on him. And he calls himself a nurse and my friend.
“But, my good sir, if you were to just simply find me another pair of clothes, I’d…” I stopped, the itch well above my head and reaching down and up into my nose. I prayed it wouldn’t make it to my brain. The last time that happened…
Mr. Wheezer sighed a long, tired sigh. I supposed he was working Night Shifts again. “Mr. Pitch, please. Just cooperate. I would really not like to have to get Mr. Hen and Ms. Sweet in here again.”
“But whatever do you mean by ‘again’?” I asked him, my curiosity rising as the constraints pulled at my arms, ripping hairs and peeling skin. It burned terribly. To think, they’d allow a man to go a day in this thing. It’s so- so inhumane. Almost as if I were some kind of… animal. I shuddered to think that’s what they thought of me, and so ignored the itching in my brain and concentrated on my friend.
Mr. Wheezer eyed me uneasily. This wasn’t a first, ha! He’d given me this look since before I can remember, since the first time I’d met him. I recall it was when I’d asked him, oh so graciously, very much respectfully, if he’d ever killed a man before. He gave me this exact same look. As if, as if what I had done was odd or something. I don’t really think back to my past all that much - it causes me such hurt - but when I do, this infernal itch increases, to a most painful degree, to where I feel like- feel like…
“Mr. Pitch?”
“Oh, there we go. I was lost for a second.” I smiled at him. My leg was shaking, tapping away at some unknown beat in my head, with the itch there, playing piano. Ah, what a song, what a song!
“As I was saying, Mr. Pitch-”
“Call me Rob, my good man! How long have we been acquainted now?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Five years, my good man, five, long years.” I flashed another charming grin. My leg, which was now rapidly ascending and descending in repetition - much like those darling screams from the room next door - was causing my friend - Mr. Teddy, I’ve named him. Quaint, don’t you agree? - to trembling beneath the chrome floors. Those darned chrome floors. My reflection can’t even be seen in them. What is the purpose of such floors if one cannot get any amusement at all from them, subtle as such amusement may be? I thought, just as my head gave a twitch.
“My, does my head itch!” I complained to my friend. His eyes grew wide. Yes, that’s it, give me more of that look, a voice inside me whispered. I gave a chuckle.
“M-ms. Sweet?” he called out, “Mr. Hen? Anybody?”
“Jim, Jim, Jim, whatever is the matter? We’re just conversing, are we not?”
The itch, it burns, it burns. Oh, does it hurt. The peeling of skin like a banana from its peel, along with the ripping of my hairs, in a slow, wretchedly painful procession.
“It hurts,” I told him. “Oh, Jim, does it hurt!”
There goes that leg again, twitching, twitching, never stopping, always a knife in my throat, a pain at my side. But unlike the pain I feel now, a tearing of ligaments, a bone cracking in two... I can see it…
“Mr. HEN!”
“Jim…” I inched closer, like a worm upon the floor, reaching for that last, supple apple from the picking. I slithered closer, like a snake to its prey. I reached out, like a human being in need of a savior.
“Jim, why do you recoil? I won’t harm you.” Much.
“P-please, Mr. Pitch, if you would just lie still!”
“But that just ruins the fun of it all!” I said, my laugh intertwining with another scream as my leg twitched and my head burned. My whole body, it shook, with such a force I thought I might make it to the door at any second.
“Not again, Mr. Pitch, not again. Please. If you lie still, we can help you, get you out of those constraints.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I gave no response, only moved closer. “Wouldn’t you?” he tried again.
“You do realize, Jim, that I am right here, don’t you? I can hear you just fine.”
“Not again…” he cried desperately. I could’ve laughed at the hopelessness in his voice. Oh, the memories, so beautiful was his desperation!
“Mr. Pitch - Rob - you were almost cured! You were almost out of here, to a better place! You’re -you’re not better… are you…”
My head pounded with such a force I almost didn’t catch that last statement. I had to squint my eyes and hold up my ears to get even a smidge of what was being said to me. It seemed as if that darned screaming was increasing, along with my spasms. It felt as if… I was losing control.
“Please, Rob, tell me you’re still in there! Tell me - oh, God, tell me - that this isn’t- this isn’t…” he couldn’t finish.
The closer his foot came to my face, the more I could feel the bloodlust move throughout my system. To heck with those pills. To heck with Shock Treatment. I was just fine. “I’m here, Jim,” I said, eyes shut, mind following on the same path. That pounding, beating, thrumming, drumming! It pained me so.
He could tell he was losing me. He gave another call; no one came. Instead, he reached cautiously over and grabbed Mr. Teddy around the waist.
“You remember this, don’t you?” Jim asked. I managed one eye open, this simple task being just as agonizing as blinking.
“Do I? He seems… unfamiliar to these eyes.”
“Oh, God.”
“God? No thank you.”
He set down the bear, his face distraught. How I wanted to hold him. Ah, yes, what a loving memory… such lifeless, bloodless eyes.
“You can’t be gone… I just - you just-! Urrrrrgh!”
“My, what a primal cry.”
He gave a dry, humorless laugh.
“And you call me the insane one,” I chuckled demurely, for my unbearable headache was returning after its tiny departure.
“I’m afraid I will become insane around you,” he said. “The more I get to know you - five years now - the closer I grow to you as a friend, and yet… Darn it, Rob! I thought you were making progress, that the voices were finally gone! You were just hiding him, them. I can’t believe you!” He shook his head in utter disappointment, and for a second, the pain ceased, and Rob came back.
“My dear friend,” I told him, “if for you and only you, I tried. I did, it’s just-” My voice caught. All these years, all those pills, treatments, all ending in failure. I had tried to stop the voices, the sounds I’d hear in the middle of the night, my want for blood, flesh, destruction, but my attempts were all futile, all along. All for nothing. But I had tried, and I thought that at one point he was gone… that is, till yesterday… and the itch, the painful gnawing at my ear, my head, my brain. It was all too much, and I had to give in. He gave me no choice, because he threatened the ones I loved- my friends, the only ones in the world who ever cared. And if only because of that, if only because he had threatened my friends - they had, for sometimes there is more than one - I gave in, and let the animal in me be free. But how I wanted to keep him constrained. Much like this constraint I myself was wearing… though tighter.
“Rob?” he called out, a small whisper in a large cave, hardly echoing, barely reaching my gradually closing ears. It was happening, and there was no way to stop it. He was taking over, they all were, and my, did it hurt. Why must it hurt? But it did. Oh, it hurt more than Shock Treatment, it hurt more than that one time in tenth grade, it hurt…
I let loose a cry I’d been holding in - me trying my best to be polite with Jim around - and felt my breath leave me in a rush, as if I’d been knocked in the stomach with a heavy blow. Even tears sprang to my eyes, which were closed from the immense throbbing all throughout my lithe body. Everything felt as if it were imploding. And it wasn’t the first time. No, it wasn’t. Though this time was much, much worse.
“J-jim…” I managed, somehow, and opened my eyes, a blurred figure before me, wavy as anything, and trembling rigidly. “This isn’t me. Urgh!” My stomach gave a leap, and I vomited up blood, my teeth glinting red in the little light present in the room. The blood spread over the chrome, marking it crimson, and I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Suddenly, the large cave became small, and all the sounds of the hospital were doubled.
“Ahahaha! Beautiful!”
“M-m-mr. HEN!”
“Forget it,” a voice that was not mine said, “Like he’ll hear you.”
I didn’t say those things. Jim, don’t listen to him, them. Please, you must know me. Don’t listen!
“Rob…”
Stop listening! That’s not me, that’s not me!
“Jim, would you be a dear and let me loose. I really need to stretch out my stiff joints.”
Don’t do it, Jim! He’s not me!
I watched, hopelessly, as Jim approached this other man.
“S-shouldn’t I call a custodian, or another nurse?”
“Are you asking me, the patient? You must really being losing it.”
“Maybe I am.”
“So, c’mon, let me loose. I haven’t harmed you. I wouldn’t harm you. I love you. You’re my friend.”
“Maybe… it would be okay.”
Don’t do it!
Jim stumbled over, practically walking like a zombie fresh out of the ground, and stood in front of my immobile body, held tightly in by white, now tinted red, constraints. He knelt down, to where I could clearly see he was crying. His eyes were dull, lifeless, and a pang deep in my skull knocked me forward. I wanted blood, and I wanted it now.
“A bit closer,” the other me said. “Thaaaat’s it. Good, closer.”
Jim fell back on his heels and reached over a shaky hand, the veins there pulsing with pure, untainted blood.
“That’s it,” Jim spoke, “I’m insane. I’m insane.”
But he wasn’t. He was just fine. I was the insane one.
“Just kill me now.”
Once the restraints fell to the floor, and the feeling had returned to my arms, I grinned, a most sinister grin. Oh, how good it felt to be free. How good it felt for this animal to be loose once more, free to roam the terrains of Africa like a King Lion and his kin. How in-control I felt. It was… bliss.
My other-self pulled Jim into a hug, as steady, trained hands curled to wrap around his bare throat. We both fell forwards onto the puddle of blood, though none of us seemed to pay it any mind; it was simply another distraction.
“Jim,” I leaned down, the feeling of complete isolation from this other-self of mine waning, to where I felt in almost complete control of this, new, powerful body. “Jim…” I waited till he looked at me, eye to eye, before I grinned, leant down once more, and whispered, “Have you ever killed a man before?”
He shook his head, eyes lost, his mind in some other place entirely.
“No,” he murmured, “No, I haven’t.” His breath was slowing.
“Well,” I continued, “now’s your chance.”
Mental
Rating: PG-13
The clicks and clangs, repeatedly making the room vibrate, reverberated off of the tiny, white walls, causing me to huddle even deeper in my newfound sorrow. But could one even consider my state to be that of sorrow? In fact, I was quite happy, pleased even, just not with this turn of events, if events they truly were. I did what was asked of me, swept, cleaned, the works, and yet… here I was, a little teddy bear my only solace, in this room, lined at the bottom with chrome while the walls - as I’ve already mentioned, blank as they are - are an ivory set of white. It’s dull, dreary, and dampens my mood immediately. After all, when one is thrown into such a room - quite roughly, I might add, and without reason - is one to get up and shout for joy? I think not. Very uncivilized, very much indeed. I was taught better than that… at least, I think I was. I cannot remember. No matter, my companions are all very well-mannered. Well, most of them are anyway; Mr. Close could be considered down-right rude sometimes, but… I have no time to chat away aimlessly, so I digress.
My head shook as a scream echoed throughout my enclosure, just as a man, in stark white that matched my walls most perfectly, walked into the room.
“Good morrow!” I told him, unable to wave, for my arms were pinned to my sides.
“And a good day to you too, Mr. Pitch. You ready?”
I studied his face with utmost curiousness. Ready for what? Was I supposed to be readied for something?
“My dear sir,” I began, an itch growing up my back, crawling towards my neck, “I do believe that I am not properly readied. For, as you can see, my attire wanes in comparison to your lovely white clothing. I am but wearing red underneath this contraption, which is hardly a suitable enough color to proceed outside in.”
The man looked at me, then, he smiled, a familiar smile.
“But Mr. Pitch, you’re always wearing red. It’s the dress code.”
I sighed, my itch rising. It seems he did not understand my predicament, which is a shame, really, for I’ve known Mr. Wheezer for oh so long. To think that this man was the one who brought me to this accursed place in the first place, and yet he doesn’t understand a word I’m saying. Tsk tsk on him. And he calls himself a nurse and my friend.
“But, my good sir, if you were to just simply find me another pair of clothes, I’d…” I stopped, the itch well above my head and reaching down and up into my nose. I prayed it wouldn’t make it to my brain. The last time that happened…
Mr. Wheezer sighed a long, tired sigh. I supposed he was working Night Shifts again. “Mr. Pitch, please. Just cooperate. I would really not like to have to get Mr. Hen and Ms. Sweet in here again.”
“But whatever do you mean by ‘again’?” I asked him, my curiosity rising as the constraints pulled at my arms, ripping hairs and peeling skin. It burned terribly. To think, they’d allow a man to go a day in this thing. It’s so- so inhumane. Almost as if I were some kind of… animal. I shuddered to think that’s what they thought of me, and so ignored the itching in my brain and concentrated on my friend.
Mr. Wheezer eyed me uneasily. This wasn’t a first, ha! He’d given me this look since before I can remember, since the first time I’d met him. I recall it was when I’d asked him, oh so graciously, very much respectfully, if he’d ever killed a man before. He gave me this exact same look. As if, as if what I had done was odd or something. I don’t really think back to my past all that much - it causes me such hurt - but when I do, this infernal itch increases, to a most painful degree, to where I feel like- feel like…
“Mr. Pitch?”
“Oh, there we go. I was lost for a second.” I smiled at him. My leg was shaking, tapping away at some unknown beat in my head, with the itch there, playing piano. Ah, what a song, what a song!
“As I was saying, Mr. Pitch-”
“Call me Rob, my good man! How long have we been acquainted now?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Five years, my good man, five, long years.” I flashed another charming grin. My leg, which was now rapidly ascending and descending in repetition - much like those darling screams from the room next door - was causing my friend - Mr. Teddy, I’ve named him. Quaint, don’t you agree? - to trembling beneath the chrome floors. Those darned chrome floors. My reflection can’t even be seen in them. What is the purpose of such floors if one cannot get any amusement at all from them, subtle as such amusement may be? I thought, just as my head gave a twitch.
“My, does my head itch!” I complained to my friend. His eyes grew wide. Yes, that’s it, give me more of that look, a voice inside me whispered. I gave a chuckle.
“M-ms. Sweet?” he called out, “Mr. Hen? Anybody?”
“Jim, Jim, Jim, whatever is the matter? We’re just conversing, are we not?”
The itch, it burns, it burns. Oh, does it hurt. The peeling of skin like a banana from its peel, along with the ripping of my hairs, in a slow, wretchedly painful procession.
“It hurts,” I told him. “Oh, Jim, does it hurt!”
There goes that leg again, twitching, twitching, never stopping, always a knife in my throat, a pain at my side. But unlike the pain I feel now, a tearing of ligaments, a bone cracking in two... I can see it…
“Mr. HEN!”
“Jim…” I inched closer, like a worm upon the floor, reaching for that last, supple apple from the picking. I slithered closer, like a snake to its prey. I reached out, like a human being in need of a savior.
“Jim, why do you recoil? I won’t harm you.” Much.
“P-please, Mr. Pitch, if you would just lie still!”
“But that just ruins the fun of it all!” I said, my laugh intertwining with another scream as my leg twitched and my head burned. My whole body, it shook, with such a force I thought I might make it to the door at any second.
“Not again, Mr. Pitch, not again. Please. If you lie still, we can help you, get you out of those constraints.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I gave no response, only moved closer. “Wouldn’t you?” he tried again.
“You do realize, Jim, that I am right here, don’t you? I can hear you just fine.”
“Not again…” he cried desperately. I could’ve laughed at the hopelessness in his voice. Oh, the memories, so beautiful was his desperation!
“Mr. Pitch - Rob - you were almost cured! You were almost out of here, to a better place! You’re -you’re not better… are you…”
My head pounded with such a force I almost didn’t catch that last statement. I had to squint my eyes and hold up my ears to get even a smidge of what was being said to me. It seemed as if that darned screaming was increasing, along with my spasms. It felt as if… I was losing control.
“Please, Rob, tell me you’re still in there! Tell me - oh, God, tell me - that this isn’t- this isn’t…” he couldn’t finish.
The closer his foot came to my face, the more I could feel the bloodlust move throughout my system. To heck with those pills. To heck with Shock Treatment. I was just fine. “I’m here, Jim,” I said, eyes shut, mind following on the same path. That pounding, beating, thrumming, drumming! It pained me so.
He could tell he was losing me. He gave another call; no one came. Instead, he reached cautiously over and grabbed Mr. Teddy around the waist.
“You remember this, don’t you?” Jim asked. I managed one eye open, this simple task being just as agonizing as blinking.
“Do I? He seems… unfamiliar to these eyes.”
“Oh, God.”
“God? No thank you.”
He set down the bear, his face distraught. How I wanted to hold him. Ah, yes, what a loving memory… such lifeless, bloodless eyes.
“You can’t be gone… I just - you just-! Urrrrrgh!”
“My, what a primal cry.”
He gave a dry, humorless laugh.
“And you call me the insane one,” I chuckled demurely, for my unbearable headache was returning after its tiny departure.
“I’m afraid I will become insane around you,” he said. “The more I get to know you - five years now - the closer I grow to you as a friend, and yet… Darn it, Rob! I thought you were making progress, that the voices were finally gone! You were just hiding him, them. I can’t believe you!” He shook his head in utter disappointment, and for a second, the pain ceased, and Rob came back.
“My dear friend,” I told him, “if for you and only you, I tried. I did, it’s just-” My voice caught. All these years, all those pills, treatments, all ending in failure. I had tried to stop the voices, the sounds I’d hear in the middle of the night, my want for blood, flesh, destruction, but my attempts were all futile, all along. All for nothing. But I had tried, and I thought that at one point he was gone… that is, till yesterday… and the itch, the painful gnawing at my ear, my head, my brain. It was all too much, and I had to give in. He gave me no choice, because he threatened the ones I loved- my friends, the only ones in the world who ever cared. And if only because of that, if only because he had threatened my friends - they had, for sometimes there is more than one - I gave in, and let the animal in me be free. But how I wanted to keep him constrained. Much like this constraint I myself was wearing… though tighter.
“Rob?” he called out, a small whisper in a large cave, hardly echoing, barely reaching my gradually closing ears. It was happening, and there was no way to stop it. He was taking over, they all were, and my, did it hurt. Why must it hurt? But it did. Oh, it hurt more than Shock Treatment, it hurt more than that one time in tenth grade, it hurt…
I let loose a cry I’d been holding in - me trying my best to be polite with Jim around - and felt my breath leave me in a rush, as if I’d been knocked in the stomach with a heavy blow. Even tears sprang to my eyes, which were closed from the immense throbbing all throughout my lithe body. Everything felt as if it were imploding. And it wasn’t the first time. No, it wasn’t. Though this time was much, much worse.
“J-jim…” I managed, somehow, and opened my eyes, a blurred figure before me, wavy as anything, and trembling rigidly. “This isn’t me. Urgh!” My stomach gave a leap, and I vomited up blood, my teeth glinting red in the little light present in the room. The blood spread over the chrome, marking it crimson, and I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Suddenly, the large cave became small, and all the sounds of the hospital were doubled.
“Ahahaha! Beautiful!”
“M-m-mr. HEN!”
“Forget it,” a voice that was not mine said, “Like he’ll hear you.”
I didn’t say those things. Jim, don’t listen to him, them. Please, you must know me. Don’t listen!
“Rob…”
Stop listening! That’s not me, that’s not me!
“Jim, would you be a dear and let me loose. I really need to stretch out my stiff joints.”
Don’t do it, Jim! He’s not me!
I watched, hopelessly, as Jim approached this other man.
“S-shouldn’t I call a custodian, or another nurse?”
“Are you asking me, the patient? You must really being losing it.”
“Maybe I am.”
“So, c’mon, let me loose. I haven’t harmed you. I wouldn’t harm you. I love you. You’re my friend.”
“Maybe… it would be okay.”
Don’t do it!
Jim stumbled over, practically walking like a zombie fresh out of the ground, and stood in front of my immobile body, held tightly in by white, now tinted red, constraints. He knelt down, to where I could clearly see he was crying. His eyes were dull, lifeless, and a pang deep in my skull knocked me forward. I wanted blood, and I wanted it now.
“A bit closer,” the other me said. “Thaaaat’s it. Good, closer.”
Jim fell back on his heels and reached over a shaky hand, the veins there pulsing with pure, untainted blood.
“That’s it,” Jim spoke, “I’m insane. I’m insane.”
But he wasn’t. He was just fine. I was the insane one.
“Just kill me now.”
Once the restraints fell to the floor, and the feeling had returned to my arms, I grinned, a most sinister grin. Oh, how good it felt to be free. How good it felt for this animal to be loose once more, free to roam the terrains of Africa like a King Lion and his kin. How in-control I felt. It was… bliss.
My other-self pulled Jim into a hug, as steady, trained hands curled to wrap around his bare throat. We both fell forwards onto the puddle of blood, though none of us seemed to pay it any mind; it was simply another distraction.
“Jim,” I leaned down, the feeling of complete isolation from this other-self of mine waning, to where I felt in almost complete control of this, new, powerful body. “Jim…” I waited till he looked at me, eye to eye, before I grinned, leant down once more, and whispered, “Have you ever killed a man before?”
He shook his head, eyes lost, his mind in some other place entirely.
“No,” he murmured, “No, I haven’t.” His breath was slowing.
“Well,” I continued, “now’s your chance.”